


The Execution of Lady Bevell: In Three Parts

by SamGirlDeanCurious



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Brief mentions of torture, PTSD
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-22
Updated: 2017-07-22
Packaged: 2018-12-05 09:45:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11575521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SamGirlDeanCurious/pseuds/SamGirlDeanCurious
Summary: Set right after Sam and Dean get locked in the bunker with Toni Bevell, but before the finales.  Things do not go well.The story contains the same event told from Sam, then Dean, then finally Lady Bevell's perspectives.





	The Execution of Lady Bevell: In Three Parts

**Author's Note:**

> In this world, Sam has some pretty hardcore PTSD that causes him to have episodes sometimes where he loses reality. Lucifer isn’t in his head anymore, but parts are still a little fried, and they come out every now and then. Not super often, but enough that Sam and Dean have strategies for how to deal with it. There’s not enough time in this story to work through their nice strategies, so I promise not all of them involve pain (referencing Dean’s slapping Sam to shake him out of it).
> 
> Lady Bevell wound up being part Bevell and part Bela in my head. I like the dialogue though, so I didn’t spend a lot of time trying to separate them. Additionally, for this scene, Lady Bevell does not have a son to go back to. I know, I know, it’s not canon compliant, but I just couldn’t work that in. Plus I forgot about her kid until the finale. Too late.
> 
> This is totally unbetaed by anyone but me, so please let me know if you see any typos or glaring grammatical issues!

The door shut behind Ketch and their mother with a bang. In Sam’s head, it echoed a different door in a different basement, closing him in, trapping him. Something in his head cracked. The bunker walls shimmered like heat waves while he watched Dean try and open the door. Sam ignored the wavering, focusing on his brother. Dean screamed at Ketch and their mother and then at the universe. Sam blinked his eyes to try and stop the walls from moving. A sheen of sweat broke out on his upper lip.  
  
Her voice filtered into his ear. Tony Bevell was here, down here with him, trapped with him. Sam’s eyes found her, and his heart started racing. He couldn’t breathe and there was a sharp pain in his foot.  
  
No, no, that wasn’t right. That was over. Dean had saved him. He’d gotten out of that basement and they’d burned the house to the ground. His foot was healed and he barely noticed it anymore; it didn’t even hurt when he ran. They had captured Lady Bevell this time, and they were holding her prisoner, not the other way around. But it had all gone wrong when their mom . . .  
  
Sam’s forehead creased in confusion. No, that can’t be right either. Mary Winchester would never turn on her sons, hold them at gunpoint.  
  
Sam started to shake.  
  
He shook his head, trying to clear it. One hand came up to his forehead, pressing against his brow to try and force reality into his head. He needed to stay focused on Dean, here, this now. He tried to take a deep breath and calm himself, but Bevell was still talking and Dean was coming down the stairs and she was still talking and talking.  
  
Suddenly, in the way these things always happen, it was on him. The rapidly shrinking rational part of his brain could feel himself sliding, slipping away while the grey and white avalanche of panic pounded down, burying everything else. In his head, he scrabbled at the terror overtaking his brain, but Lady Bevell wouldn’t shut up and her voice was a visceral fear he couldn’t override.  
  
Sam’s shoulders shrank as he heard clattering down the staircase, someone was coming. No, not someone, his brother, Dean. Dean was here. Bevell and his brother were shouting at each other and Sam made himself even smaller, slouching and watching the walls suspiciously between them. If he was small enough, she wouldn’t notice him and she wouldn’t come for him.  
  
His foot burned inside his shoe.  
  
The walls behind Dean and Lady Bevell flickered, a dusty brown stairwell and a locked door appearing instead of the bunker railings, light coming through the crack under the door. Sam closed his eyes and pressed his thumb into his palm, feeling the ridges of the old scar. He dug his nail in, hard, trying to shock his system with pain. He opened his eyes, but the door was still there. He couldn’t see Dean and Bevell anymore, but the door was still there, always there.  
  
He shivered, feeling ice cold water drip out of his hair and off his chin.  
  
He heard his name on her lips and it cracked his mind like a thunderclap. The bunker fell away completely, leaving him shivering in the dark basement. It had all been in his head; the hunts, the British Men of Letters trying to befriend and work with them, Mick and Ketch, seeing their mom, and having Dean rescue him. Dean was dead and he was never getting out of this basement.  
  
Sam choked back a sob, grief at the loss of his illusion washing over him. He’d lost his brother again, and it didn’t hurt any less for being all in his head.  
  
With no warning, there were hands on him, touching his arms, hand he couldn’t see. He could feel them on his sleeves, pressing at him, pulling his hand away from his face, and shaking him, and his first instinct was to fight, but he stopped when he realized the hands were gentle. They didn’t hit or wield sharp knives. He imagined he could hear Dean calling his name, feel Dean’s hands on his face, checking him like he used to when Sam got a concussion. Sam mumbled Dean’s name.  
  
In his head, Dean cursed and then sharp pain bloomed across Sam’s cheek. His eyes slammed shut even harder and his hand flew to hold his aching cheek. When he opened his eyes, Dean’s face was in front of him, eyes boiling with concern, fear, and fury.  
  
“Dean?”  
  
“Yeah, it’s me, Sam. You with me?”  
  
“I . . . ah . . . yes? Maybe? I’m having . . .” Sam’s eyes flicked around the bunker, stopping on Toni Bevell. She was sighing with her arms crossed, the picture of British judgement. Sam stopped talking. Dean said his name again, and Sam tried hard to look away from her, to focus back on Dean, stay with him like he’d asked, but the fucking walls wouldn’t stop moving and he could hear what she was thinking, how she was going to hurt him again, assault him again, make him say her name again. He held onto Dean’s arms desperately trying to anchor himself.  
  
“Okay, okay,” Dean said. Sam felt Dean’s grip on his arm tighten and then start to pry Sam’s fingers from his sleeve. When had he grabbed Dean’s sleeve? “I’ll be right back, okay, Sam? Right back. I’m real. I’m alive, Sammy. I promise.”  
  
Sam gave a weak smile and let him go, worried he’d never see his brother again.  
  
Sam closed his eyes again, not trusting them to show him the truth. He heard Dean’s boots move across the floor and a chair scrape out. Lady Bevell spat something at Dean, but Sam flinched away from her voice, not wanting to hear her. Then there was some shuffling and thudding, and what sounded like zip ties being tightened. Bevell’s voice droned on, railing against Dean and American hunters, until Dean told her to shut the fuck up and for a miracle, she listened. She must have heard the promise in his voice.  
  
Then Dean’s hand was on Sam’s arm again, pulling him out of the room, toward their bedrooms. Sam opened his eyes just in time to see the step and not fall flat on his face. They walked a little ways down the hallway, enough Sam supposed to be out of earshot, and Dean stopped and turned around. Now that they were away from the locked door and Bevell, Sam’s head started to clear a little and the walls weren’t wavering quite so much. His brother was a solid weight in front of him, and Sam wasn’t cold or wet anymore. This was real. He was in the bunker with Dean.  
  
“Sam? You with me?” Dean asked again.  
  
Sam thought for a moment. “Yeah, yeah. Now I am. Sorry.”  
  
Dean waved his apology away. “You don’t have to apologize for that Sam. Ever. What happened? Are you good now?”  
  
Sam shrugged. “The door shut and you were yelling and then I heard her voice. . .”  
  
Bevell’s voice came toward them down the hallway, yelling about leaving her all day.  
  
In response, Sam’s whole body stiffened and he involuntarily glanced behind him, half-expecting her to be right behind him. When he turned back, Dean was nodding.  
  
“You thought you were back in the basement. It’s her, huh? Hearing her, having her here. It fucks with your head, right?”  
  
Sam nodded, head low, still embarrassed that he sometimes loses reality.  
  
“Well, let’s go take care of it then. You’ll feel better if you put a bullet in her head.”  
  
Sam looked at the gun Dean was offering. Where had he gotten it from? Sam didn’t remember any hiding places in the hallway. Looking at the cool metal, he felt sick and dizzy, and a wave of terror tore through his body, leaving a cold sweat in its wake. He swallowed and shook his head.  
  
“I . . . I don’t think I can, Dean.”  
  
Dean paused, looking at Sam, searching for something in his face. Evidently he found it, because he nodded once more and reached up to the back of Sam’s neck. He pulled their foreheads together for a brief moment and then patted Sam’s chest.  
  
“Okay, Sammy. I’ll take care of it,” Dean brushed past Sam on his way back to the war room, but Sam called out to him.  
  
“Dean! Wait. What if . . . what if we need her to get out of here? What if . . .?”  
  
Dean took two steps back toward him. His voice was low and full of murder.  
  
“I’d rather die down here than need that bitch for anything.”  
  
It was Sam’s turn to nod. He didn’t say anything more, just let his brother go back down the hallway. He closed his eyes one last time, listening to Dean’s footsteps. He heard him pause for a minute at the doorway.  
  
The crack of Lady Bevell’s neck breaking echoed down the bunker halls, bouncing off the tiles, singing freedom to Sam. Or maybe it only sounded like that in Sam’s head.

**Author's Note:**

> My poor Sam! I was really trying to convey Sam's rather tenuous hold on reality. Please let me know if it worked! 
> 
> Dean's chapter is coming soon! Just want to edit it a little bit more. Thanks everyone!


End file.
